


Tremor

by TsarinaTorment



Series: Sensory Sunday [5]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Angst, Electrocution, Gen, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Scott, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Military!Gordon, Nudity, Scott Whump, SensorySunday, Torture, Wasp - Freeform, We're towing the T/M line so bumped up to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 11:56:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24969325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsarinaTorment/pseuds/TsarinaTorment
Summary: Not everyone worships the ground International Rescue walk on.
Relationships: Past Hood & Jeff Tracy, Scott Tracy & Gordon Tracy
Series: Sensory Sunday [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1778035
Comments: 14
Kudos: 33





	1. I - Hood

The rumble of thunder rolled across the hills, sending vibrations straight through him as echoes reverberated all around the dusty valley. There were many words he could use for the machinery, but regardless of the fact his personal opinions on the matter tended to run contrary to the rest of the world, he had no intention of denying that the Thunderbirds were _impressive_.

Very impressive. A sheer stroke of genius, decades ahead of their time, and piloted by little more than _children_. The second generation of International Rescue – it would be a lie to say that he had _never_ met them, but while he knew their names, their achievements, the last time he had clapped eyes on any of them personally, there had been nappies involved.

And only one of them, rather than the veritable _swarm_ Jeff had since sired.

That same boy was now, regrettably, taller than him, although the lack of nappies was appreciated. Scott Tracy had not yet left the area – an unfortunate cavern collapse, trapping several miners deep inside with no choice but to call for the miracle of International Rescue. The elusive organisation had, of course, responded, with the sleek silver of Thunderbird One and the powerful green of Thunderbird Two appearing barely minutes after promising their aid.

He'd always known they were based nearby. The purchase of an entire island was difficult to conceal, especially from his own acquaintances, even if Jeff had long since cut ties to him. That still rankled, if he let the name _Jeff_ float around in his mind for too long. Then again, that was the entire reason for this little outing.

Jeff might be long gone, in an accident that gave him conflicting feelings – satisfaction and rage – but his legacy was _not_. If Jeff Tracy wanted him to play the role of a villain, then he would do it, and do it _properly_.

There was never any use in only doing something half-heartedly.

From beyond the grave, he hoped Jeff _regretted_ inviting him to take this path. If he didn't already, he certainly would by the time he triumphed victoriously over the Tracy legacy. International Rescue would topple, not for their beautiful, _roaring_ machines – although no small part of him looked forwards to having those under his control – but because they were the sons of Jeff Tracy.

One step at a time. The injured miners – which just so happened to be all of them, it had been such a _nasty_ cave-in – had been evacuated in Thunderbird Two, who was little more than a green speck on the horizon already, engine noises a whisper compared to the initial thunderous take off. Only three humans remained in this desolate strip of land – Scott Tracy, the wife of the landowner blubbering into his awful blue uniform, and him, the man slowly but surely approaching from behind.

The woman was wailing utterly pathetically, her arms wrapped around Scott Tracy like a vice. Ever the gentleman – ever the _hero_ – he was doing what he could to console her for the devastation that had occurred on her husband's land. The entire affair was disgusting to the extreme, but sometimes one required to operate outside of one's comfort zones to get the desired results. A healthy dose of plausible deniability never hurt, either.

In this case, the desired result was the needle in his hand slipping into Scott Tracy's unguarded neck; like a naïve fool, he'd never even noticed his approach over the woman's wails for attention. The young man stiffened and attempted to turn, only to find himself imprisoned by the vice-like grip of the woman. It was too little, too late. The sedative was potent but fast acting – he knew Tracy tenacity better than most. Give them an inch and they would take a mile.

He gripped dark brown hair, stopping the head from turning, and counted the seconds of thrashing Tracy. It was fortunate his arms were pinned, otherwise he might have landed some nasty blows – the boy _had_ spent some time in the military, and more time around his erstwhile niece – and it took some quick footwork to stop his kneecaps being caved in by a vicious stab backwards with a foot.

It took seven seconds of ever-weakening attempts at freedom before the sedative set in, and he found himself taking the weight of a muscular young man against him as Scott Tracy lost the battle against the drug.

He had been much lighter the last time he'd been this close to him, but he supposed the infant had grown up somewhat since then. The woman ceased her hysterics immediately and assisted him in dragging the limp, unco-operative form into an area sheltered by rocks before also ceasing to be a woman. The cloaking device rippled once, twice, to reveal one of his minions – he didn't know the name, nor did he particularly care to. He cancelled out his own disguise as well, the familiar buzzing hum of technology in his ears falling into silence.

"Boss?" The idiot wasn't looking at the downed Tracy, but rather the Thunderbird looming in front of them. Even Thunderbird One was a large machine, if usually dwarfed by the gigantic Thunderbird Two. He ignored him and the machine both for the moment, lowering Scott Tracy to the ground.

This close, it was obvious the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree in looks, as well as their ridiculous penchant for heroics. Not quite a dead ringer for Jeff Tracy at the same age, but with his eyes closed to hide the piercing blue that had surveyed the scene upon his first arrival, there was little difference. He even had his father's infernal dimples – no doubt women all flocked to fall at his feet, too.

His appearance was not of immediate concern, however – that honour went to his uniform. He had no doubt it was riddled with all sorts of technology equally as advanced as the Thunderbird near them, and the temptation was there to take the technology and leave the boy. Common sense prevailed, however. He would have all of their technology in time; after all, that was the plan. Making amendments to the plan at this stage would be the height of foolishness, and as taunting as the impressive technology was, a hasty attempt at retrieval would only end in disaster.

All this impressive technology left traces, _trackable_ traces that would ruin everything, so it was with nimble fingers that he worked at the buckles on the baldric, setting it to one side delicately, before turning his attention to the uniform itself.

Maybe he should have some sort of emotional response – some _restraint_ , if you will – to stripping a man young enough to be his own son down to his birthday suit, but notions such as _morals_ had long since fled, if indeed he'd ever had some in the first place. After purposefully exploding a mine he owned (under a pseudonym, of course, he wasn't born yesterday) all in order to get his hands on Jeff's successor, the idea that even underwear was a potential tracking security risk far outweighed any concerns about an unconscious young man's perceived requirement of modesty.

It would be most tedious to go through this much effort only to be thwarted by something as avoidable as that. There was still the risk of an _embedded_ device, which his niece or half brother might have had just enough paranoia to insist upon, but bug sweepers were easily enough obtained, with the right contacts.

He, of course, had the right contacts, and a knife handy in case some impromptu surgery was required. It was almost a disappointment that he came up clean. Almost. He might be the most villainous of villains, but he prided himself on not stooping to _barbaric_ levels; that said, there was some merit to getting his hands dirty if required.

There was nothing more to be gained by remaining there. Folding up the uniform neatly – he was many things, but a slob was not one of those – and leaving it in the sheltered area behind the rocks, he turned his back on the Thunderbird's lusciously tempting presence and gathered the unconscious pilot into his arms. Scott Tracy was heavy, but despite his crisp, businessman appearance, he had done _some_ physical labour in his life. Carrying an unconscious man was not beyond his abilities, even if this one was somewhat inconveniently _tall_.

"Come," he ordered to the minion, who had been gawking at the Thunderbird uselessly the entire time. If it wasn't for the fact that his schemes occasionally required some dumb muscle, he'd never keep any of the fools around. "We have what we came for."

"But, Boss," the idiot stumbled. "The Thunderbird? I thought-"

"I do not employ you to _think_ ," he cut in. "I employ you to obey."

Yes, the Thunderbird, unguarded, all alone, was most inviting, but he was no fool. If the uniform was a tracking _risk,_ a Thunderbird was a tracking certainty. A man could go… _missing_ , as the Tracys were about to unfortunately discover. It required far more careful planning to obtain a Thunderbird, and he wouldn't truly have any until he located their mysterious eye in the sky – another Thunderbird, to be sure, but one whose location was a far better protected _secret_ than their little island base.

He would have them all in time, but first, he needed information, and who better to get that from than the commander himself?

"I hope you enjoy your little nap," he murmured to the man in his arms, whose head lolled back limply in unconsciousness. He had not yet decided if his likeness to Jeff would be in his guest's favour or not, but whichever way it fell, he did not think the immediate future would be particularly pleasant for the young man. "I fear our conversations may not be quite so much to your liking."

Hidden behind the collapsed mine, his ship roared into life. While not quite so loud a thrum as the earlier departing Thunderbird, the noise was still of the impressive variety, and he strode towards it confidently as the loading ramp lowered to the ground with a muffled _thud_.

"Welcome aboard," he declared to his unconscious armful as they entered. "I would say I hope you enjoy your stay, but I fear the hospitality may not be to your liking. In fact, I highly doubt it."

A small smirk played across his lips. No, Scott Tracy would not enjoy his stay one bit, but that was of little concern to him. Jeff's legacy would crumble, and the technology of International Rescue would be his.

As soon as Scott Tracy told him what he wanted to know.

And he would.


	2. II - Alan

Alan yawned, lazily regarding the holoprojector in front of him. School sucked, especially when Scott used it to tell him to stay at home rather than joining his brothers on a rescue. They said they didn't need him for this – a _simple rescue, Alan_. The fact that John wouldn't even let him listen in because it might distract him from his schoolwork did nothing to reassure him, but sometimes his eldest brothers pulled rank and there was nothing he could do but obey.

That didn't change the fact that English was boring. Math and the sciences were at least _useful_ to an astronaut, but what did ancient, boring scripts have to do with going into space several times a week? Nothing. Nothing _at all_ , but he still had to get a good grade or his Thunderbird privileges would be revoked. He'd learnt that one the hard way – Scott and John were _cruel_.

The sound of thunder was the sound of rescue. Each of their craft had a unique sound – Alan had grown up listening to them at all hours of the day and night. Thunderbird Three was power, an earth-shaking roar of defiance as she exploded into view. Thunderbird Four gurgled – not that Gordon would ever admit it – in a choked-up bluster of water and technology propelling the small craft wherever she needed to be. Thunderbird One was all raw speed, blink-and-you'll-miss-her with the echoing vibrations all that remained to betray she was ever there. Thunderbird Shadow was a silky purr, slinking through the sky with no intention of letting anyone else know she'd ever passed. Thunderbird Five… well, there was no sound in space. Thunderbird Five was John's voice, calm and sure.

But it was Thunderbird Two's deep whine of reassurance that he heard then, a glance out the window showing the green Thunderbird banking around for a landing on the runway. He searched the sky for her closest sister, in case she was being drowned out by the larger 'bird, but there was no flash of silver. No red hurtling towards the window, no water sloshing outside as the pool retracted.

The two Thunderbirds returning at different times, or even Thunderbird Two returning first, wasn't unheard of, but it was unusual enough for Alan to take note of it. Chances were, Scott had gone straight to another rescue while Thunderbird Two needed to change modules – or wasn't needed at all, to Virgil's chagrin.

Five minutes later, the latter was confirmed as the vibrant sound of chatter sounded from the stairs, Gordon's mile-a-minute whirlwind offset by the calmer tones of their older brother, and Alan pushed away from the holoprojector. He'd made _some_ progress. Now he wanted to hear all about the rescue. Shakespeare could wait another hour or few.

"Hey, Al!" Gordon chirped, sliding into the seat next to him and magicking a can of liquid cheese from somewhere. Alan didn't particularly care to know where or how. "How's school?"

"Boring," he griped, finishing the word with a raspberry. "How was the mission?"

"Routine cave-in," Virgil assured him from the kitchen, where he seemed to be trying to find something edible. "Had to do a hospital run for the miners that got caught, but nothing worse than a few broken bones. Scott upstairs?"

Alan blinked at him.

"Uh… Scott's not back yet," he said.

"Still?" Virgil asked, sounding surprised. "It took some time to offload all the miners safely… I know he stayed behind to talk to the landowner's wife, but he should have beaten us back." He frowned. "It wasn't exactly far from here."

"Maybe John gave him another rescue?" Alan offered, but even Gordon looked a bit thoughtful.

"Without alerting Thunderbird Two?" Virgil scoffed. "Thunderbird One isn't equipped for much on her own, and backup is always advised."

"Why don't we just ask John?" Gordon suggested. "Maybe there's a cat stuck up a tree in Auckland. Don't need Thunderbird Two for that." Alan wondered if he believed his own words, from the way he was looking out at the sky, he doubted it.

"John?" Virgil called, and immediately their older brother appeared.

"How's the schoolwork coming, Alan?" he asked, and Alan pouted at him.

"It's… coming," he hedged, and got a disapproving look.

"Alan-"

"John, where's Thunderbird One?" Virgil cut in, saving Alan from a lecture on his grades. Again. "Scott's not back yet."

Any ideas they had about Scott having taken a rescue detour were promptly discarded at the look of surprise on John's face, and the holographic figure turned to presumably check telemetry.

"Looks like he's still at the danger zone," he said. "That's rather a long talk with Mrs Gunear; I'll see what's up."

Alan couldn't see his fingers, but he'd been up on Thunderbird Five enough times to be able to picture John playing his Thunderbird like a piano, pulling up Scott's comm and linking into it.

John frowned.

"That's odd," he muttered. "He's not picking up."

"I'll go see what's taking so long," Kayo chipped in, and Alan jumped. When had she got there? Silent as a cat, there was a flash of blue and black and then she was gone as silently as she'd arrived.

"Maybe he's busy talking?" he offered, and John shrugged, still looking mildly confused at the situation.

"He still normally answers, or at least picks up," he said. "There's no harm in Thunderbird Shadow having a look."

"I guess not," he admitted as the black Thunderbird streaked into the distance behind him, a muffled boom of the sound barrier the only indication of her presence. "I'm going to the den."

"Your schoolwork?" John said pointedly, and Alan huffed. Gordon came to his rescue.

"How about we all go up and see what our esteemed commander has to say for himself when Kayo grabs him?" he offered. Alan jumped on that immediately, gleefully abandoning the holoprojector of Shakesdeath-by-boredom and scarpering up the stairs. His brothers were slightly slower in following him – Virgil now with a mug of coffee, and Gordon squirting cheese into his mouth as he walked – but of course John was already there, hovering above the table.

Thunderbird Shadow wasn't as fast as Thunderbird One, but she was still no slouch, and it was only a few minutes of dodging liquid cheese and threatening to delete all Gordon's saved episodes of _Into The Unknown_ if it got into his perfectly-styled hair before she checked in.

"I've got eyes on Thunderbird One," she said. "No sign of Scott or Mrs Gunear, though." This time, John's eyes narrowed in undeniable concern.

"Are you sure, Thunderbird Shadow?" he asked. "I'm getting Scott's signal clearly. He should be about ten metres west of Thunderbird One."

"I'll land and take a closer look," she said. Alan startled as Gordon slung an arm around his shoulders, but no cheese was incoming. Amber eyes were watching Kayo's hologram intently. Across the den, Virgil had similarly forgotten his half-drunk coffee, mug loosely cradled in his hands, and even Alan felt a jolt of concern.

John's hologram was looking at something Thunderbird Five was showing him, and he didn't look particularly pleased with whatever it was.

"Okay, I'm down," Kayo said, her hologram shifting to mimic her leaving her cockpit. "Ten metres west?"

"Approximately," John confirmed.

"Scott?" she called out as she walked forwards. "Scott, is everything alright? Sco-" She cut off with a gasp, and then her hologram lurched into a run.

"What is it?" Virgil demanded, on his feet with coffee split on the floor and a shattered mug in an instant. "Is he okay?"

Kayo's eyes were wide, and her hologram looked pale.

"John, what life signs are near me?" she asked. John scowled at what was probably some data.

"None," he said. "All I'm picking up is you and Scott." She swore, unprofessional enough to make Alan's spine straighten in panic. "Kayo, what is it?"

"Scott's not here," she said, her hologram shifting to stand up.

"What do you mean?" John demanded. "His signal is right by yours."

Gordon's grip along his shoulders was tight all of a sudden, and Virgil looked frozen in place.

"Exactly what I said," Kayo snapped, looking around her warily. "Scott's not here, but his uniform is. Neatly folded behind a rock."

"How?" Alan wheezed. How was that possible? Scott without his uniform? At a danger zone?

"I don't know," Kayo muttered. "No signs of a struggle." She paused. "Scratch that. There's some scuffed dirt by Thunderbird One and a faint trail leads to where I'm standing. No sign of any blood, his uniform is completely intact." She frowned down at her hands. "Even his underwear's here. That's odd."

"Scott wouldn't take off his clothes unless he had to," Gordon commented quietly. All the signs of Alan's jovial older brother had vanished, leaving behind the military steel he usually hid beneath layers of quips and smartass remarks. "John, Thunderbird One's external cameras?"

"Already on it," John muttered, bright eyes flicking around as he glanced from readout to readout. "Nothing unusual so far… okay, Thunderbird Two departed, and- He got jumped by the landowner?" he exclaimed, audibly puzzled. "They hid behind that rock, and Thunderbird One's cameras lost them."

"I'll go find the landowner, then," Kayo said with threaded steel in her voice, straightening up. "Find out what he's playing at-"

John cursed, startling Alan. Kayo was one thing, but John was calm, always calm no matter what. If there was one brother he'd never heard swear in his life, it was John.

"What happened?" Virgil demanded, striding forwards as though he could teleport to the scene if he touched Kayo's hologram. In answer, John turned on the tabletop holoprojector, showing them a monster of a ship lifting off from behind the mine, all orange glows and _danger, danger_.

Gordon bit out something he must have learned in WASP, and Virgil took an unintended stumble backwards as Kayo swore a blue streak that consisted of words Alan didn't even know.

"That's the Hood's ship, isn't it?" he asked, subconsciously curling into Gordon's ramrod-straight side. "But that means…"

"The Hood's got Scott," Virgil growled, as John lost any semblance of calm and tore through his station before coming to an abrupt stop and saying the only thing that could possibly make this situation any _worse_.

"I don't have a location."


	3. III - Scott

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While there’s nothing overly graphic, there are depictions of torture in this chapter.

There was the hum of machinery all around him and passing through him. Some sort of engine, a monster of a beast from the low rumble. It wasn't the rumble of a Thunderbird; not even Thunderbird Two's acoustics reached quite as low as this. Certainly, it was nothing like the comforting cry of his own 'bird.

He shifted, his back resting on something solidly uncomfortable, and there was a heavy clink, like metal hitting metal. Attempts to pull his arms to his sides – why were they above his head, he never slept like that – resulted in a louder clank and he was forced to stop moving by pressure on his wrists. That didn't bode well.

Where was he? This _could_ be one of Gordon's pranks, but Gordon knew better than to mess around on a mission, and the last he could recall, he'd been on a rescue. A collapsed mine, a distressed woman, and then- he'd been attacked?

He stilled, running through everything he knew again. He was lying on something hard and unforgiving, with only a thin layer of what felt like rough cotton between his back and the surface. His uniform was gone, as well as anything _else_ he'd been wearing from what he could tell, and there were chains holding his wrists in place. A heavy weight on his ankles suggested that his feet were similarly restrained, legs splayed just past the edge of what would be comfortable. All in all, not a favourable position to be in.

There were other little noises, barely audible over the thrum of engines. A shuffle, the almost silent passage of air in and out of someone's mouth. Wherever he was, he wasn't alone.

"I trust your sleep was pleasant?"

Scott considered feigning further unconsciousness. If he didn't respond, they might just leave him alone and he could work out how best to get himself out of the predicament he'd ended up in. Even if he was no longer _wearing_ his uniform, it should be nearby, and if nothing else John would be tracking it.

"Come, now, Scott," the voice continued. It was male, silky, coaxing. The sort of thing he heard from the businessmen he trusted the least. It was also bordering on familiar. "You and I both know you're awake." He was sure he'd heard that voice before, somewhere. If he could just remember where… "If you wish," the man continued, "I'll let you know where you are. You're currently in one of the sections of my ship; I must apologise for the accommodation – I don't often entertain guests."

That told him nothing new, which he suspected was the purpose. Offering useless information to bait him in was a common tactic, and one he'd pulled on younger brothers when required.

His companion sighed.

"A conversation ideally requires more than one participant," he said neutrally. "Of course, we could get down to business without preliminary small talk, but that would be so impolite. What would your father think?"

A rush of rage flowed through Scott. Who was this man to talk about Dad so casually, so _familiarly_? How _dare_ he-

All of a sudden, he realised where he knew the voice from, and something unpleasant coiled in his gut. Reluctantly, he pried his eyes open, squinting against the bright light directly above him, and looked over to his side.

The Hood was not someone he'd ever met in person, but he'd watched the Zero-X footage a thousand times, with the same, slimy bald head and drawn cheeks etching themselves into his mind over and over again until he invaded his dreams. This was the man that killed Dad, and – Scott's stomach lurched – now he was at his mercy. He didn't think the Hood had much of that.

"Ah, much better," the Hood said lightly, a patronising smirk twisting his features. There was nothing remotely pleasing to the eye about the entire visage. "We have much to discuss, after all."

"We have _nothing_ to discuss," Scott snapped back, his voice still laden with the rasp of groggy awakening. Hazel eyes, a sickly green-yellow rather than Kayo's much warmer, _kinder_ , gaze, took on a glint of amusement.

"Oh, I assure you we do," the Hood responded, inspecting his hands lightly. "I think we should begin with the exact nature of your so-called 'Eye in the Sky'."

Thunderbird Five. _John_.

"A space station of some sort?" the man continued, as though he was discussing the weather and not threatening his younger brother. "Presumably one with a Thunderbird callsign, like the rest of your admittedly impressive fleet. Let's see… a Thunderbird Five?"

Scott glared at him, hoping he couldn't hear his heart thumping. It was all conjecture, understandable leaps of logic. He didn't actually _know_ anything, he was just trying to get a reaction from him, to see how close his theories were to the truth. Scott refused to let him know how accurate his guess was.

"You killed Dad," he accused. "Why would I tell you anything?"

The Hood gave a long, drawn-out sigh.

"Misunderstandings and defamation of character," he said with an exaggerated patience. "I did not kill Jeff. He was not invited to join the show, nor did I force him to remain on the ship instead of bailing like a sensible individual. Your father's tragic demise was entirely of his own creation, I'm afraid. Oh, don't give me that look. Glaring doesn't change the truth. He could have saved his own skin at any time, and you know it, Scott."

His name falling as slick as oil from those thin, bloodless lips did nothing to improve Scott's mood, and not for the first time, he wished glaring daggers was a more literal description. Anything to get this man away from him, saying half-truths as though they were gospel with a honeyed tongue.

"But we're not here to discuss the tragedy that was the Zero-X," the Hood continued, "although I would be willing to commiserate Jeff's life with you after we get the business out of the way. After all, he _was_ my friend."

"Liar!" Scott spat, without thinking. "Dad would never be friends with, with-"

"With me?" the Hood finished, leaning forwards and delicately taking hold of his chin. His fingers were spindly and just warm enough to be living, but slimy and raised goosebumps where they touched his skin. "Oh, Scott, don't you remember me? Captain Taylor might have been awarded with the title of godfather, but I held you back when you were an infant before he ever met you. I dare say the man's still never got his own godson's name right."

It was phrased as an observation, but there was a questioning tilt at the end of the sentence. Scott set his jaw and didn't answer. That couldn't be right. He was lying – he was a crook, lying was what he did _best_.

"Oh, Lucille was never my biggest fan," the Hood continued when it became apparent he had no intention of confirming or denying. "But you adored me, always crawling to my feet whenever I walked in the house. Never in anything more than a nappy – oh, I'm speaking to an American, _diaper_. You weren't the biggest fan of clothing, as I recall."

Scott felt sick, although he kept his glare up, jaw set against saying anything and waiting for the spidery fingers to release their feather-light touch on his face. His parents and grandparents alike had commented more than once on infant-Scott's protests against _clothes_ , reminding him as a child whenever he despaired over Gordon's similar dislike over wearing anything. How the Hood knew that – if it wasn't a lucky guess – he didn't want to know.

Those weren't the sort of details available to the public.

"But we can reminisce later," the Hood said, finally taking his fingers away. "Business before pleasure, of course. So, International Rescue's Eye in the Sky?"

"I'm not telling you anything," he spat, and the Hood sighed.

"Such melodramatics." He shook his head. "I must say it gives me no pleasure to do this." There was a glint in his eye that told Scott he was lying, but before he could begin to determine what _this_ was, his wrists _burned_ like a wildfire, shocks streaking down his arms and contracting the muscles involuntarily.

It lasted no time at all, but to Scott's dismay he was panting, forcing his muscles to relax again.

That gleam was still there when the Hood gripped hold of his chin again, fingers pressing in to the delicate flesh under his jaw, and forced him to face him again. He didn't remember looking away.

"I'm afraid I can't accept no for an answer," he said, voice still in the smooth businessman tones. "If you won't tell me willingly, I have no choice but to resort to somewhat harsher methods. I will ask you again: tell me all about your Eye in the Sky."

"Go to hell!" Scott spat, tensing up in anticipation of another shock. None came, and the Hood gave a grin that would have looked more at home on a tiger as he retracted his hand again.

"Now why would I want to do that?" He checked his watch, a flash of gold, and hummed. "I'm afraid I will have to bring our conversation to an end for the moment. My attention is required elsewhere." Scott watched him stand, brushing invisible lint from his suit. "We shall resume later."

The door was out of Scott's line of sight, but he heard it lock and relaxed. Time to find-

Pain lanced through him, electricity dancing through his muscles and once again forcibly contracting them. He clenched his teeth through the pain, his back arching away from the table and his limbs coming up short against the clinking of chains. Unlike the first dose, it didn't cease after a split second, instead wracking his body into spasms. He couldn't breathe, it hurt, it _burned, he couldn't breathe._

Black spots danced in his vision and somewhere there was a keening sound, like a distant scream. He couldn't breathe, his nerves were on fire, his body wouldn't listen to him-

As suddenly as it had started, it stopped again, leaving him heaving for breath and blinking away the black spots. His back cautiously lowered to the probably-table he was chained to, and oh so slowly, he got his trembling limbs back under control. He had to escape; while he had every faith that John and Kayo would find him, he couldn't just lay back and wait. Not with taser-infused chains that needed no clear provocation to activate.

Given their resistance to his pain-induced thrashing, it was unlikely that the chains would break easily, but with nothing else to go on, Scott forced his aching arm to extend until his hand to wrap around the chain linked to him and tugged. There was a rattle, but no give.

Clenching his teeth, Scott tried again. And again. And again.

There was the hiss of an opening door and he dropped the chain as though it burned. Hurried footsteps, unlike the calm and measured ones of the Hood, approached him until a person with a ridiculous mask over their head was stood next to him. He couldn't see where they were looking exactly, but the helmet moved in a slow turn, giving off the appearance of taking in his entire restrained – and, _oh_ , undressed – self, before settling on his face.

"Water," a heavily disguised voice said, holding up a clear plastic bottle in front of his face. Scott opened his mouth to point out that he was hardly in a position to drink, but before he could say anything, the cap was popped off and the water upended over his mouth.

Unprepared, and in what was quite possibly the worst position, there was nothing Scott could do except splutter and choke as some of the miniature deluge found its way down his throat. There was no way to breathe, no way to escape – attempts to turn his head sideways, out of the path of the water were thwarted by a large hand gripping his chin with none of the Hood's faux finesse and forcing his mouth open.

Then the water was gone, and he was coughing and choking in an effort to keep it out from his lungs. Water erupted onto his face, running off his cheeks like tears, and he turned his head to the side, vomiting up what he could. The masked person was gone by the time he got control of himself again, now uncomfortably aware of the rough cotton below him absorbing the moisture and turning damp.

The chains on his wrist flared up again, and he had a split second to panic about the water dripping off of him and into the material below him before his awareness sharply narrowed to _agony, can't breathe,_ muscles wound tighter than a spring and his vision alternating black and white as that background keening started again.

Him, he realised dimly when the pain came to an abrupt end, leaving him gasping and heaving.

"I trust you've had some time to reconsider." The Hood's silky tones draped over him as the man himself stepped back into view. How much time had passed? Scott didn't think it had been _that_ long, but he had no way to tell the time. Any attempts at keeping track mentally had been well and truly thrown off. "I would rather dispense with this uncouth method and discuss this civilly."

Scott spat some leftover water at him as he carefully persuaded his muscles to unclench, one group at a time, and took some glee in the fact it landed on his face. Aside from the twitch of a brow, there was no response.

"We were discussing your Eye in the Sky?" the Hood prompted instead, just as he managed to release the tension from his left calf. Scott turned his head away and a sharp burst of electricity shot up from his left ankle, jerking his leg taut again and travelling up to his hips before fading away. "It's polite to look at someone when they're talking to you, Scott. I'm sure your father taught you that. Your mother certainly would have."

Scott reluctantly rolled his head over to glare at him, once again trying to unwind his leg muscles.

"You don't get to talk about my parents," he rasped, throat unpleasantly raw. He tried not to think about that.

"I would _prefer_ to address International Rescue," the Hood reminded him. Scott shut his mouth and glowered at him. "Really, Scott? I was hoping to have a mature conversation with an adult; who knew the commander of International Rescue was such a child? I imagine you'll be sticking your tongue out at me next?"

Scott refused to rise to the bait, and the Hood sighed.

"No matter," he said. "We have time." Scott inwardly scoffed. His family would arrive soon, even if he couldn't get himself free any time soon. He only had to hold out until then.

He had military training. He could do that.

The Hood headed for the door again, calm and measured footsteps that stopped just out of his sight.

"Oh, and Scott? Everything you had on you was left by the mine." Scott suddenly felt very cold. His tech, his _trackers…_ "I do hope you weren't expecting a rescue." Without those, they couldn't track him. The Hood's ship had constantly evaded everything they had for eight years now – it had been a point of contention for John and Kayo alike.

The Hood made a noise that was clearly amused.

"You _were_? Oh, dear, Scott. It's a good thing I told you – we wouldn't want you clinging to some false hope, would we?" Scott barely listened to him, dread pooling in his gut.

_He had to get out of there._

The door hissed shut, locking with a thud, and for the first time, he felt truly trapped.


	4. IV - John

How hard was it to find a single, oversized, ugly ship? John glared at the string of data he'd obtained from the GDF – less than legally, and without their knowledge, but desperate times called for desperate measures – and resisted the urge to pull his hair out.

Three days. That was how long he'd been tearing apart every scrap of data he could get his hands on, determined to find the Hood's ghastly ship – and more importantly, his big brother. That was also how long it had been since he'd last slept, a fact EOS was bringing up more and more. She'd threatened to tell Virgil and Grandma that he wasn't looking after himself; he'd threatened to delete her and lock Thunderbird Five down so no-one could get in.

It was harsh, cruel, even, and the AI had promptly retreated, refusing to talk to him until he apologised. John was the one in the wrong and he knew it, but he couldn't bring himself to apologise, not yet. If he did, she'd take that as permission to invite Virgil up and force him to take a break.

He didn't dare take a break. The last time he'd stopped monitoring communications, Scott had been kidnapped. Part of him blamed EOS for that, too. How had neither of them noticed anything at all? It had been quick, but not that quick.

In the corner, a display repeated the feed from Thunderbird One over and over again, on an eternal loop. The woman clung to Scott, the man approached from behind, and a too-brief tussle had his big brother unconscious in seconds. They vanished behind the rock, and all was still for several minutes before the huge, _ugly_ offense to engineering rose into the air and flew out of shot.

And then it was gone.

_How_ did that monster of a thing hide itself so _completely_? The GDF were useless; he'd informed Colonel Casey of the abduction, but while the woman herself was utterly horrified and determined to do anything within her power to assist them, she was finding herself blocked at every turn by someone else. What little data she'd managed to provide had been stripped of anything remotely _useful_ , and John had given up on that avenue of approach.

It felt uncomfortably like Dad all over again. No body, searches turning up useless, the same man responsible. The only comfort he had was that this time there was no evidence to suggest Scott was dead.

What the Hood wanted with him was another matter entirely, and John scowled furiously at his useless, _useless_ data. It was all very well and good having the most powerful computers in the world, the state of the art Thunderbird Five advanced well beyond any other space station or communication hub made by man, but why, when it came to family, was it never _enough_?

First Dad, then Scott. Who next? Keep going down the line – _him_ – or skip the isolation of space and target Virgil? Gordon? _Alan_?

International Rescue was grounded. That, at least, Colonel Casey had managed to do something about. All emergency calls were being diverted to Global One. Until they found Scott, there was a family-wide agreement. Family first.

"Hello, John."

He startled, unprepared for the call. If he'd been in gravity, he'd have tripped and fallen over his own feet for sure. As it was he merely jumped out of his skin before reluctantly rolling to face his friend.

"Anything?" he asked, too tired, too wound up to do anything except jump straight to the heart of the matter.

Lady Penelope looked concerned, but shook her head.

"I'm afraid not," she apologised. "None of my contacts have seen or heard anything, and Parker's underground connections are turning up similarly empty. It's as though they've vanished into thin air." Blue eyes focused on him and narrowed. "John, when did you last sleep?"

He laughed, a sickly, hollow shadow of bitter mirth.

"I'll sleep when Scott's home safe and sound," he told her. "Let me know if you hear anything."

"John-" He swiped her away, ending the call. If it wasn't information on Scott or the Hood, he didn't need it. Not right now.

Besides, three days was nothing. It had been seven before Scott damn near rammed in his airlock after the Zero-X to shove food down his throat and tie him to his bed with promises to monitor everything until he'd rested.

Scott wouldn't do that this time, as much as John would love to see his big brother forcing his way through the airlock safe and sound. He'd give him one great big hug and never, ever, let him go. But life didn't work like that. Scott wouldn't miraculously be here, in space. No, he was _somewhere_ on that green and blue marble below him, and John would _find him_.

_Like you found Dad_? a little voice in the back of his head mocked. He ignored it.

Thunderbird Two was at the mine again, Virgil determined to search the place inch by inch in case he'd been left there after all.

"We never saw them board the ship," he'd argued, and John hadn't stopped him, knowing that Virgil needed to be doing something, _anything,_ that could be helpful. He'd been the one to leave Scott alone without backup, and no-one was more aware of that fact than Virgil himself.

"New rule," Gordon had said. "No-one gets left behind." He'd all but thrown Alan on the green Thunderbird to keep Virgil company, their youngest brother unnervingly quiet. The aquanaut himself had thrown himself into a world of contacts John had never realised he had. It turned out that it took more than a hydrofoil crash to cut ties with WASP, ties Gordon was now yanking on with everything he had with the same fervour Kayo was hunting down Kyrano and his old contacts, and even Grandma had some surprises up her sleeve.

So far, none of them had turned anything up at all. Not a single hair had been found, and as each day passed, the pressure mounted higher and higher. The Hood hadn't even got in contact to gloat, and that worried John. No contact, no ransom, no demands at all.

What was the criminal after?

He turned his attention to the useless string of GDF data again. Maybe if he ran it through a different system, used a different angle… maybe _something_ would come up. Something, _anything_.

The fact that in the past eight years they'd never managed to find anything on the ship preyed on his mind. If eight years had turned up nothing, why would three days make any difference? Nothing had changed. Scott hadn't managed to keep a single tracker with him, they had nothing new to go on.

They didn't even know if Scott was still alive. Forty two percent of kidnappings resulted in the victim's death. It was a statistic he wished he didn't know.

"John."

A security camera faced him, lights white. They'd been red last time he'd seen them, EOS furious at his threats.

"Not right now, EOS," he snapped. He didn't have time for apologies, no time for rest, explanations or anything that wasn't _finding Scott_.

"I believe I have a probable location for the Hood's ship," she told him, undeterred.

It took a moment for the words to sink in.

"You what? Where?"

The string of data in front of him disappeared to be replaced with a satellite feed of an ice sheet.

"I ran through all the satellite imagery recorded across the globe since the incident," she informed him. "Using those, I tracked the ship to the southern tip of Africa, where it submerged. Enhancement of the images showed a large mass of the correct dimensions travelling through the water until it reached the southern extent of the Arctic Circle and travelled beneath the ice shelf. No satellite has since picked up anything that could be the Hood's ship."

John gaped at her.

"It's also a _submarine_?" he realised, voice strangled in his throat. No wonder they'd never found it. "The Hood's been hiding _underwater_?"

"That would appear to be the case," EOS informed him. "Would you like me to ask Gordon to investigate?"

John didn't answer, pulling up the aquanaut's comm himself.

"John?" Gordon didn't look like he'd had any more sleep than John himself.

"Gordon, the bastard's underwater," John bit out, language be damned. Gordon had heard worse. "Arctic Circle, sending last known co-ordinates now. How many contacts can you get scoping out the area?"

"Enough," his longer brother said, amber eyes sharp. "How did you find it?"

"I didn't," John admitted, glancing up at the camera. "EOS did." Gordon nodded, accepting it instantly.

"Tell the others we've got a lead," he said, something in his voice John had rarely heard from him – an expectation that he would be obeyed. Gordon _had_ been one of the youngest WASP officers in history. "I've got calls to make."

It was Gordon that swiped him away, ending the call, and John stared at the icon for a moment, letting himself breathe. They'd done it. Eight years, and they'd managed to track the Hood.

Something _had_ changed. They had EOS now. Hacking every single satellite that orbited Earth and delving through all of their memory banks was a feat not even John could manage by himself, but EOS had done it, and in only three days.

He had to make calls of his own, reassure the rest of his family, get Kayo on the right track, but first there was something else.

"EOS?"

"Yes, John?"

"I'm sorry. Thank you."

Lights flashed green.

"I forgive you. And you are welcome."


	5. V - Gordon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some depictions of torture and gun use in this chapter.

Each brother was one with his respective Thunderbird. It made sense; each Thunderbird had been built specifically for them, after all. Their hope, their determination, _desperation_ whenever they went out on a mission, to save another family a tragedy shone through Tracy and machine equally. Today was the first day Gordon had set foot in Thunderbird Four thrumming with suppressed anger; she'd responded in kind, an emotion unsuited to a rescue machine but mirrored all the same.

And Gordon was angry. He was furious, grip on the controls firmer than normal as his Thunderbird pushed through the water. EOS had given them a starting point, but it had been another agonising forty-eight hours before his connections at WASP had located the Hood's monstrosity – such a thing should never be in the air, let alone contaminating the world's oceans – and a plan of attack had been formed.

The ocean was Gordon's domain. Outside the windows, murky shapes kept pace with his submarine; the ocean was WASP's domain, too, and WASP took offence to the Hood's presence. The fact that one of the accompanying submarines was the same one Gordon had served on as an officer, manned by that very same crew, was just an added bonus.

Behind him Kayo shifted, International Rescue's own security agent too agitated to remain still in the confined cockpit of Thunderbird Four. They hadn't exchanged any words since Thunderbird Two had dropped them off to the south of Iceland, Virgil trying one last argument to come with them rather than remain on standby. The blanch when Gordon had offered him a gun had been enough to defeat that argument.

This was a rescue, but it wasn't one in International Rescue's domain, despite the presence of Thunderbird Four. Unarmed civilians like his brother would be nothing more than a liability. Gordon didn't want to use the gun stowed safely in his baldric, but if that was what it came to, he would. Kayo had equally declined a gun, but she was more dangerous without one. No-one would dare consider her an unarmed civilian.

Up ahead, the Hood's ship loomed, and Gordon allowed him a brief moment of _Scott's in there_ before calling on his military mindset and letting it settle over him, pushing detrimental emotions to the back of his mind.

Get in. Locate the hostage. Get out. Do not engage with hostiles unnecessarily.

Behind him Thunderbird Shadow's pilot stilled, her breathing carefully regulated and even as she slipped into her own professional mask. There was too much at stake for careless mistakes.

Latching onto another craft was second nature, Thunderbird Four designed to pull off that exact trick, and he slipped under the belly of the craft, locating the airlock. WASP carried on past, surrounding the machine with loaded missiles at the ready if it tried to escape. Only one submarine stayed behind – Gordon's old one, with men he knew and trusted.

The boarding party was small. WASP paperwork indicated they'd been selected by their Commander. That Commander had once worked with Gordon during his days in service and selected the names Gordon picked. They all convened at the airlock, nudging it open with practised ease and slipping inside.

What was a mass of junk on the outside was a refined interior, better at home in a billionaire's private yacht than a criminal's lair. Polished floorboards with plush rugs, more than likely all obtained through less-than-legal means, greeted them as they edged forwards. From here it was all luck; they had no plan of the interior, no other known ship to compare to for even the vaguest idea.

Gordon gave the order to advance, a sharp hand gesture they all heeded instantly. Kayo, hurriedly drilled through the basics of WASP's signals once it became apparent it would be a joint operation, stuck close to him. Around them, there was the hum of life support, muted but audible in the silence. Lights buzzed almost silently overhead, suspended with decorative shades rather than the bare-bones of a typical submarine. Beneath their feet, the plush rugs muffled any and all footsteps, and it was with guns in hand that the team cautiously proceeded.

"Hey!"

They spotted the masked person the same moment they saw them and following the brief the two front-most aquanauts reacted, dragging them down before they could flee or raise an alarm. Whoever it was, they were naïve and sloppy, and their resistance was flimsy at best. Outnumbered and unprepared, they were down in seconds.

An empty bottle dropped to the floor, bouncing off the floorboards with a dull thunk before rolling onto the rug and remaining still. Gordon narrowed in on it immediately, padding forwards and trusting his companions to keep watch on the area as he scooped it up. Droplets of clear liquid trailed down the inside. Helmeted, Gordon couldn't catch a scent, but it seemed most likely to be water.

Why was their now-unconscious opponent carrying around an empty water bottle? He gestured his intentions to check the alcove they'd appeared from, and immediately Kayo and two others were with him as the others kept the area secure.

A plain white door greeted him, firmly shut. Faint thudding and an accompanying unrecognisable sound were barely audible from the other side. Gordon turned his attention to the access panel beside it and withdrew a little present from John and EOS. Barely a fraction of the AI's processing code – not enough for her consciousness to be within it – it was enough to have the door unlocked and opening in seconds.

The room was not large, but it didn't need to be. A thrashing, flailing body was chained to a table, mouth open in a soundless scream. Behind him, Kayo made to step forward but Gordon threw an arm to stop her, tearing his eyes from the scene to survey the rest of the room. No-one there.

Satisfied, he firmly gestured for Kayo to guard the door and edged in, taking one last check around for unwelcome surprises, before he let the military ebb away slightly and all but ran to his brother's side.

Relief at finding him was fleeting at best. Electric sparks were flying around each of the shackles, providing an immediate answer for Scott's distress, and Gordon grit his teeth, looking for the source. A small black box, tucked under the foot of the table, caught his attention and he didn't waste time looking for the off switch. Muffler on his gun, he took aim and fired. Sparks fizzed around the hole, but the low hum of electricity stopped, and Gordon holstered the weapon, attention solely on his brother.

Scott was pale, washed out beyond anything that could be considered remotely healthy. His eyes were open, but it was clear he wasn't looking at anything, the usual sharp blue muted and dulled as his chest heaved, mouth open for air. Brown hair was dishevelled and matted, wet and plastered to his face, some droplets of water still running down his cheeks.

Gordon wasted no time in picking the locks of the shackles, noticing irregular spasms in his muscles and bruised fingers at unnatural angles, and the carefully suppressed anger bubbled below the surface. Scott came first, but if the Hood showed his face before they'd left, Gordon had a bullet with his name on it.

How _dare_ he do this to his brother. Gordon was under no illusions that Scott's five days with the madman had been any different to what he'd just witnessed, and there was a part of him very relieved to find him still alive.

The shackles fell away to show burnt and bleeding skin beneath. Gordon touched one still-twitching arm gently and Scott's head rolled away from him with a barely-there noise, arm flinching minutely.

Gordon wanted to take his time, reassure Scott he wasn't going to hurt him – while mentally deciding what, exactly, he was going to do to the Hood if he made the mistake of appearing – but a muffled gunshot still made a noise, and from outside the room he could hear a small commotion.

"Hold on, Scott," he murmured as he ran a quick assessment for any damage that would make moving him ill-advised, appalled but unsurprised at the lack of clothing. He tossed the small cloth that was present to one side, damp and rubbing the sensitive skin beneath it raw, determined that moving Scott wouldn't kill him, and scooped him into his arms.

Scott was taller than him by some margin, but whether it was Gordon's determination to get him out of there or a drastic loss of weight during captivity, lifting him was barely more strenuous than if it were Alan. Gordon pushed the thought away to be dealt with once they were safe.

"We're out of here," he said curtly to Kayo, who nodded without turning around – although Gordon' didn't miss the look out of the corner of her eye, or the harder set of her jaw – and advanced into the corridor.

They didn't wait for WASP – with International Rescue's primary objective in Gordon's arms, their aims now differed as the military moved into the second phase of the operation: capture the Hood. Former comrades offered him little more than a nod of the head as they passed, keeping their passage to the airlock clear before joining the advance ahead, but Gordon ignored them. Scott wasn't reacting to being moved, limp and unseeing in his arms, and the sooner they got him off the ship, the better.

They'd need to swim to Thunderbird Four. It was barely any distance to the closest airlock on the small submarine, ten metres at most, but Gordon couldn't be sure Scott was conscious enough to hold his breath.

"Go," he said to Kayo. "Get the stretcher ready." She gave Scott a concerned look before nodding and launching herself out of the ship. Gordon didn't watch her go; instead he knelt and propped Scott up against his legs, supporting him with one arm while the other hand dug out the rebreather. "Just a quick swim," he promised his brother, pressing it to cover his mouth and nose.

Immediately, Scott reacted, lurching away from the equipment and almost falling sideways. Gordon clung to him tighter, hushing him as he moved his head from side to side, blue eyes wide with terror.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he soothed, heart constricted at the sight of his strong big brother reduced to blindly thrashing with trembling muscles barely under his control. "It's just until we get to Four, I promise. Come on, Scotty. I can't get you out of here without it." His words had no effect, and he brushed Scott's hair back, desperate. "It's me, Scotty. Gordon. I'm getting you out of here. It's just a rebreather. Just like when you used to fly fighter jets," he promised. He couldn't use a tranquiliser, not when they had no idea what Scott had been dropped with originally, or what might have been used since.

There were footsteps approaching, heavy enough to be heard even though plush rug. Not WASP.

"Come on, Scott," he pleaded quietly. "You can do it. Twenty seconds, that's all. Twenty seconds and you'll be safe in Thunderbird Four." Scott stilled and he cautiously tried again, only for his brother to panic again as soon as it came into contact with his face.

The footsteps were getting closer.

"Please, Scott," he hissed. "Please!"

Step. Step. Step. Gordon dropped the rebreather and went for his gun, turning and firing a shot as a man came into view.

There was a cry of pain and the helmetless man dropped to the floor, hands around the hole in his leg.

"Another Tracy," he hissed, eyes a green-yellow and glaring daggers at him. Scott flinched violently at the voice, and Gordon pulled him closer protectively with the hand not holding the gun trained on the other man.

Gordon hadn't watched the old footage as obsessively as some of his brothers, but even he recognised the man in front of him. Scott's reaction was unnecessary confirmation, and his finger squeezed the trigger again. Again. Again.

One bullet hit the Hood's other leg. The other two found his shoulders, the Hood jerking back with each hit and Gordon levelled the barrel at the bald head as the man screamed hoarsely.

"That was four bullets," he said coldly as pained yet furious eyes found his and widened at the barrel still aimed towards them. "You had him five days."

He pulled the trigger.


	6. VI - Kayo

Gordon was taking too long. Kayo frowned, casting a look around Thunderbird Four's interior. It was all ready for a patient – or at least, as ready as it could be. She hadn't got a good look at Scott's condition, but the glimpses she had caught told her that Thunderbird Four was not well enough equipped to do much more than stabilise him. There would be no recovery until they were at least in Thunderbird Two, with Virgil taking control, if not until they reached a hospital.

They wouldn't get anywhere until Gordon and Scott were on board. What was taking so long?

She crept back to the airlock, looking out of the window. No sign of them. Her uncle's ship loomed threateningly and she scowled at it. How _dare_ he take one of her brothers and torment him? The idea that she could be at all related to the man made her sick, and she shoved it out of her mind to panic over later in the sanctuary of her own room.

Not here.

She dragged herself back to the present, refusing to let herself spiral. A glance out of the window showed that there was still no sign of Gordon and Scott, and Kayo couldn't wait any longer. She pushed out of the airlock, cutting through the water and slamming up against the bigger ship's airlock in time to hear a muffled gunshot.

Heart in her mouth, she wrenched it open and tumbled through, prepared for combat.

The first thing she saw was Scott, sprawled limply with his eyes closed. The second was Gordon, cradling his brother close with one arm even though his torso was twisted around to face something behind him.

The third was the gun, held at the end of a steady arm. The fourth was the slumped body of her un- _the Hood_ , bleeding sluggishly onto his own ill-gotten plush rugs.

"We need to move," she said, stepping forward slowly. Gordon lowered the gun, stowing it back inside his baldric. "Is he..?"

"He doesn't deserve the easy way out," Gordon said, his voice level, neutral, even. If not for the hard look in his eyes, she'd think he was entirely unaffected by the fact he'd just shot a man. "I hit his collarbone. He won't be a problem now; we'll leave him to WASP."

Kayo had long since forsaken any notion of family loyalty to the criminal, but that didn't stop a small voice in the back of her mind reminding her that he was her uncle, that they'd been close, once upon a time. She tore her eyes away, squatting down by Scott and retrieving a discarded rebreather. Gordon took it out of her hands before she could affix it.

"He panicked," Gordon said. "Wouldn't let me put it on. We'll have to find another way." Kayo frowned and inspected Scott more closely.

"He's passed out," she realised. "Look." She didn't touch him, but Gordon had no such qualms, cradling his cheek and patting it lightly. Scott didn't respond, and Gordon sighed, looking less military and more first responder.

"Okay, we'll risk it," he said. "Let's hope he doesn't wake in a panic." Privately, Kayo thought he was unlikely to wake at all, but she kept those thoughts to herself as Gordon fixed the rebreather to Scott and stood, once again cradling his brother in his arms. "See you in Four."

He passed through the airlock and was gone. Kayo looked around again, ignoring something tugging at her heart as she caught sight of the crumpled, bleeding figure of the man she was related to. She should do something, stop the bleeding maybe. Save him.

Scott would. Scott refused to let anyone suffer if he could do something about it, no matter who they were. That was what made him such a good commander for International Rescue – a strong successor to Mr Tracy, who Kayo recalled as having similar ideas.

Kayo was not Scott. Kayo's job was to keep her family safe – her real family, not a twisted mess of a man who happened to share her blood. Scott needed help, and it was help she delayed every second she lingered. With one last shaky breath, she turned her back on a man she refused to refer to as anything other than 'the Hood' and plunged into the ocean, towards Thunderbird Four.

Gordon had Scott on the stretcher with a medical scanner resting on his chest when she stumbled through the airlock. There was no question what took her so long – Gordon trusted her too much for that. He directed her to get a pair of towels from a locker, and she obeyed instantly.

"Get him dry," he ordered, busying himself with an IV and drip. Kayo nodded, stepping up next to him and for the first time allowing herself to see her big brother's state. It was so much worse up close, a body wracked with tremors that could be cold or something else. She pushed it from her mind again, another thing to break down about _later_. Clinical, detached, she dabbed him dry, barely noticing when Gordon left for the cockpit.

Thunderbird Four moved, detaching from the Hood's ship and rotating to head back the way they'd come – to Thunderbird Two and Virgil, no doubt waiting beyond anxiously to pick them up and see Scott for himself. Kayo found her balance against the movement quickly and carried on with her ministrations, not letting herself pay too much attention to the state of the body beneath her hands.

Not yet.

She'd just got him dry when their altitude shifted dramatically, Gordon taking them back up to the surface, and she threw a foil blanket over him. It wasn't much, but it was something, and when she looked at Scott again, allowing herself to _see_ , she could almost fancy he looked more comfortable. Almost. He was still pale and trembling, cheeks hollowed and eyes sunken, and she pushed his hair back as they docked inside the module.

"Virgil will be here any moment," she told him. He didn't respond, but she didn't expect him to. Gordon returned from the cockpit, fussing with the blanket and looking at the medical scanner with a frown. Red and amber alerts flashed up all over his body, telling them nothing they didn't already know; it was bad.

Heavy footsteps ran towards them, and Kayo stepped back to let Virgil take her place.

"I'll pilot," she said, knowing where Virgil was needed. She didn't wait for a response, all but fleeing the submarine.

Thunderbird Two's cockpit was empty, Alan kept at home with Grandma despite his complaints to the contrary, but the yoke was shifting by itself. Autopilot wasn't engaged, so it had to be John or EOS.

"Where are we going?" she asked the empty space, slumping into the co-pilot's chair.

"Usual hospital." John looked tired – Grandma had forced them all to get some sleep over the past five days, but up in orbit John had been outside of her reach. "I forwarded the medical scan results to the island and Grandma made the call."

Kayo didn't argue, even though that meant her job wasn't over yet. Off the island meant security was needed, and even if the Hood was subdued, that didn't mean he'd been working alone. She said as such and John sighed.

"I know," he agreed, pushing his hair back from his face. It was a far cry from its usual perfectly-coiffed state. "Colonel Casey's providing security detail; a team she's hand-picked personally. She says it's the least she can do." The GDF's failure to be of any use at all had to be a sore point on the woman; Kayo could understand that. No doubt they were also fuming at the fact that the Hood had fallen into WASP hands rather than their own.

Kayo didn't care where he was as long as it was nowhere near her true family.

"WASP reported in," John continued. "The ship's been captured and the Hood is under heavy guard. They swear he won't get away."

"He won't," Kayo agreed, her mind flashing back to a crumpled, bleeding body and steely amber eyes. The look John gave her said he didn't want to know.

"How's Scott?" he asked instead. "I've got the medical scan, but… how _is_ he?"

Kayo put her head in her hands.

"Unconscious now," she said. "It would have been better if he'd been unconscious the whole time. It's bad, John. Gordon couldn't get a rebreather on him until he passed out."

"Do we know what the Hood wanted?" She looked up at the hologram. "Some sort of information?"

"That would be my guess," she admitted. "Most likely on International Rescue."

"He wasn't after information." She jumped and turned around to see Gordon standing by the door. His eyes were furious, and with a start she realised he had his gun in his hands. "Not unless he's stupid."

"What do you mean?" she asked. The cartridge slid into place with a snap and he eyed it for a moment before putting the weapon back in his baldric.

"Scott couldn't talk if he wanted to right now," Gordon said, striding forwards. Kayo vacated the co-pilot seat, but he didn't sit down. "That's just sloppy if you want information. Either he already got what he wanted – but Scott's trained to resist for longer than five days so I doubt that – or information was never the aim."

"Then… what was he after?" John sounded genuinely confused, but Kayo could see what Gordon was getting at and it made her blood churn.

"Not information," she said, her voice painfully short and curt even to her own ears. "Revenge." Why? The Hood had always been dogging International Rescue, but _why_? What reason did the Hood have to hate them _so much_?

Beside her, Gordon was ramrod straight, his hands balled into fists.

"He wanted Scott to die."

"What?" John paled, clearly visible even across the hologram. Gordon sat down in the co-pilot's chair, and Kayo reluctantly perched in Virgil's.

"He didn't succeed," Gordon said firmly. "And he _won't_. Give me control, John. I'll get us there. You get your ass home."

John didn't argue, signing off a moment after Gordon took over manual control.

They flew on in silence, Gordon concentrating on getting them to New Zealand – definitely not the closest, but security was the priority, and there was only one hospital on the planet Kayo would trust with her biggest brother right now – and Kayo trying and failing to compartmentalise everything.

Her uncle had tried to kill Scott. _The Hood_ had tried to kill _her_ _brother._

Gordon had shot her uncle. _Her brother_ had shot _the Hood_.

"They don't need to know the full story," Gordon said suddenly, jerking her back into the present and away from the mire of her thoughts. "Even if it's the Hood, they wouldn't agree he deserved to be shot."

"It'll be on record," Kayo reminded him. "WASP know it wasn't them." Deserved to be shot? Kayo wished she could believe that so whole-heartedly, but whenever she thought about it, she remembered the uncle that used to be kind, once upon a time.

Why hadn't that lasted? Why had he turned so _cruel_?

_He's never hurt you,_ her mind reminded her. _Even now._

"They won't check the records." Gordon was confident. "John doesn't want to know and the others don't care what happened as long as Scott's okay."

"But he's not."

"He _will_ be. He's Scott."

Gordon was a tough young man, spine of steel – not just metaphorically – and cold as ice when required. Despite that, he was still Scott's little brother, still clung to the need for his big brother to be okay.

Kayo understood. She couldn't imagine Scott not recovering, either.

The hospital was the same as ever, doctors she knew the name of – and every inch of their background – there to carry her brother away. The GDF personnel were equally known to her; Colonel Casey had been thorough with her selection. The final reassurance was the pink Rolls Royce, and Kayo exchanged a distant nod with the lady inside before returning to Thunderbird Two.

Gordon was waiting for her in the cockpit. Virgil would be staying at the hospital; Kayo was unsurprised. It would take a miracle to tear him away from his older brother now. Not when he blamed himself so whole-heartedly for the situation.

She'd be back later, in Thunderbird Shadow. But first she needed to wind down, destress until she was capable of being the best security she could.

For that, she needed her bedroom, and peace and quiet. Gordon disappeared who-knew-where – Thunderbird Four, most likely, to stow away his gun before Alan saw it. Kayo made a beeline for her sanctuary, shut the door, and threw herself face down on her bed.

There, she let everything she'd suppressed bubble up. The confliction over blood family versus her true family, the guilt and shame for there even _being_ a confliction when her uncle – the Hood – was willing to commit such atrocities. The state Scott had been in, battered and broken, all done at the hands of a ruthless murderer who had already broken her family – her _real_ family – once.

Her bed dipped, someone sitting by her head. They didn't speak, but they didn't need to. Only one person would ever dare intrude without knocking.

"I hate him, Grandma," she sobbed. "I _hate_ him. So, _so_ much." She couldn't get the memory of the Hood, slumped and bleeding, out of her mind. She shouldn't care. She _shouldn't_.

A gentle hand ran down her hair, comforting.

"I know, dear."

They'd done this dance before, after Mr Tracy's death, her father's disappearance. Every time her _uncle_ tore apart her true family.

She hated him, but there was still a part of her that loved him, even now.


	7. VII - Virgil

Virgil was jerked from his restless sleep by the sound of screaming. The source wasn't particularly difficult to identify, even with a sleep-fogged mind; after all, it was an all too common occurrence and had been as such for the past week.

Scott didn't remember anything about his time with the Hood. He'd told them, in a raspy, painful voice, that the last thing he recalled was the woman clinging to him tearfully, and then nothing until waking up in hospital, some two days after being rescued. Unfortunately, it seemed his subconscious was not so amnesiac; amongst other things, Scott had yet to sleep a night through without being dragged out of it screaming.

"Scott!" Virgil was at his side in moments, dodging flailing limbs to put a light hand on his brother's chest. "Scott, wake up!" There wasn't much he could do except wait for him to claw his way back into the waking world himself – they'd tried all manner of things in the days since bringing him home, but most seemed to do little but make him worse. He ducked an arm that swung too close, aware that if Scott hit him, he'd do more damage to himself than Virgil. "Scott!"

With a final cry, Scott heaved upright, eyes snapping open and staring at nothing in unconcealed terror.

"Scott?" he tried again, more softly. "Scott?"

He watched as the terror receded, a softer, tired look replacing them. Scott's chest, initially rising and falling rapidly, fell back into a healthier rhythm, and after a blink he was back to himself, looking round at Virgil tiredly.

"Again?" he asked quietly, the hint of a rasp to his voice. It was mostly gone now, the strong voice of their eldest brother recovering better than the rest of him, but after a night terror it always came back. Virgil nodded.

"Want a drink?" he offered, and watched Scott ease himself back down onto his reclined bed. Another quirk – Scott couldn't lie flat without panicking, resigning himself to an extended stay in the medical bay with hospital grade beds that allowed for a recline for the time being either until he could relax laying down again, or they replaced his bed with a recliner.

"Please." Virgil unwrapped a straw and put it in the waiting cup before holding it out. Scott accepted it tentatively, loosely wrapping his healing fingers around it as best he could despite their minute tremors; Virgil didn't let go. He made a face at the taste of the water, lightly flavoured with honey and normally not at all to big brother's tastes, but sipped at it regardless. Another thing they'd learnt the hard way: Scott wouldn't drink straight water, and panicked at the word.

Virgil didn't know where the Hood was, and that was probably a good thing because if he did he'd be tempted to pay him a visit. Gordon and Kayo had both informed him that the Hood was no longer a threat, and he would have to content himself with that, but seeing Scott panicking at the most supposedly-innocent of things was hard. So hard.

"Did I say anything?" Scott asked, looking at him. He wasn't taking the gap in his memories well, not that Virgil could blame him. Waking up to both wrists and all fingers broken with no recollection of how they happened would have bothered anyone. Unfortunately for Scott, no-one who knew anything was talking, despite his demands to the contrary.

Gordon and Kayo had been tight-lipped about everything they'd no doubt seen, no matter what Scott said to them, and Virgil had no plans to ever let his biggest brother near the Hood again.

"Not that I heard," Virgil told him, settling on the edge of the bed. He never did, only screamed. Scott frowned down at the cup.

A light knock sounded on the medical bay door, and John wandered in, their other brothers hot on his heels. Scott flushed, as he did whenever he realised he'd disturbed all of them, although Virgil suspected they'd all been awake anyway. Just because they took it in turns to sleep in the medical bay with him didn't mean they slept like a log in their own rooms. He certainly didn't.

"Mornin'," Alan yawned, stumbling over until he reached Scott's bed and curling up next to him on it. Scott gave him a soft look and shifted his arm to loop around him. Assuming the drink was done with for the moment, Virgil retrieved it and placed it back on the table.

"Morning, Alan," Scott returned, squinting around for the clock. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Five oh five," Gordon told him, huddling on the bed at his feet. Barring Virgil, who was well aware it took all three of his not-bedbound brothers or Grandma to get him out of the room, Gordon was Scott's most regular company. Even if he wouldn't talk about what he'd seen, he'd definitely seen _something_ , and the military persona he'd slipped into when Scott had gone missing hadn't yet fully receded. "Perfectly acceptable time to wake up." Virgil disagreed, but he wasn't his insane brothers with their preference for crack of dawn workouts.

"Says you," Alan mumbled, putting an arm around Scott loosely.

John pulled up a chair and positioned himself by Virgil.

"How are you feeling this morning?" he asked Scott, who shrugged and waved an arm, highlighting the various drips feeding into it – painkillers, relaxant, nutrition, all of which he needed in high doses.

"Not much of anything with these," he pointed out. John's lips quirked up into a small grin.

"I suppose not," he agreed, pulling up his tablet. "You know, this time of morning might be perfectly acceptable for fishboys, but the rest of us aren't going to be moving any time soon." Gordon pouted at him, but Alan proved his point by letting out a loud snore. Scott glanced down at the youngest and gingerly manipulated him so he was leaning against him and unlikely to fall off the side of the bed.

"Teenagers." Gordon rolled his eyes, as though his age didn't end with -teen, too. Five in the morning was far too early to get into a debate over whether or not nineteen counted, and Virgil hurriedly smothered a yawn of his own. Both his older brothers looked at him and he frowned back at them.

"Get some sleep, Virgil," Scott insisted. Virgil shook his head.

"If Scott goes to sleep will you go to sleep?" John bargained, only for Scott to turn on him. Whatever protest he had died at the look on John's face. Virgil couldn't see it well from his angle, but he was pretty sure it was his stubborn one.

"Are you going to read them to sleep?" Gordon chipped in, and John raised an eyebrow.

"If that's what it takes," he agreed, and Gordon let out a bark of laughter. Virgil groaned, and John looked at him challengingly.

The family dynamic _shifted_ whenever John was home. Not by much, and he was fairly sure their brothers barely noticed it, but then again they weren't the ones being pushed from the position of second eldest when it happened. When John was in space, all he had were words, and technology. He could wield both to devastating effect – he wouldn't be so _good_ in space if he couldn't – but it was with the full weight of his turquoise eyes in person that Virgil truly remembered that looking after their wayward eldest brother wasn't solely his responsibility, and that he had _two_ older brothers who would come down on him hard if they thought he was neglecting himself. Scott's bluntness could be brushed off. John was like water, eroding away slowly but steadily until he got his way. He didn't raise his voice, turn things into a shouting match until someone backed down with a bruised ego. He just _looked_ , and that one look showcased the inevitability of the other caving, so why bother dragging it out unnecessarily?

Virgil yawned again, a traitorous reflex, and sent a glare back. It had no effect on the big brother who had weathered many a "but Scott said" and "why?" in his life. Not when all John had to do was glance at the big brother in question, who was eyeing him with outward concern, to win the silent battle.

_Scott won't rest until you do_.

Using Scott against him was dirty, but no-one ever accused John of not being a manipulative devil when it suited him. With an ill-tempered groan, because it was far too early in the morning to deal with all this no matter what Gordon said, Virgil dragged another chair over and slumped into it, reluctantly resting his head on crossed arms by Scott's side.

"Thanks," he heard Scott say quietly. John's reply was lost to the claws of sleep.

Virgil had been tortured by what-ifs ever since they'd realised Scott had been kidnapped. What if he'd insisted they leave the site together? What if he'd left Gordon with Scott?

What if they'd never found him? What if he'd been killed and all Gordon and Kayo had dragged out of the Hood's ship was a lifeless body?

Scott was home, safe but not yet sound. Was that his fault? Could he have done more? Should he have noticed that the owner – the _Hood_ – had his eyes on Scott?

Sleep was usually a good time for Virgil. For the past few weeks, it had been anything but, and he roused again with heart pounding and Scott's name on his lips to find the world was still dark. John and Gordon had vanished, and Alan was still curled up against Scott's side. Scott himself looked to be asleep, breathing deep and even with his eyes closed. Compared to that first glimpse in Thunderbird Four, he looked positively healthy.

Virgil drank in the sight as he stretched his spine out. Sleeping in chairs was never a good idea. His subtle movements didn't disturb either of his brothers, and he sighed. In a few hours, Scott would be awake enough to be agitated about his bedbound status. He'd need a sponging down, too wary of a bath and panicky under a shower to try either of those methods again any time soon. Bandages would need to be checked and changed, artificial skin to be eyed critically as it assisted with the regrowth of real skin on the worst-affected injuries.

Maybe they'd be able to get him to the den, Gordon's nemesis the hoverchair waiting in the wings for a new passenger. Pass a few hours with some family movies and appreciate that they hadn't been fractured apart yet again. Laugh and enjoy life, forget about the Hood rotting away in some WASP cell.

Maybe they could spend the day like that, no responsibilities, just a healing family together. But for the moment, Virgil watched the brother he'd almost let slip through his fingers sleep, safe and getting-there-sound, and tried to forget the what-ifs that plagued him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was an absolute beast of a chapter to write. There was enough potential content to be an entire fic in its own right, and maybe I’ll write that recovery fic one day, but for now I present this little glimpse of ‘what happened after’.
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> Tsari

**Author's Note:**

> Fifth sense, fifth fic. This time it's Hear, from Gumnut's SensorySunday challenge. I actually have a plan for this one, although we'll see if that sticks at all. Previous experience suggests no.


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